Claymore Girls
by humanequinn
Summary: AU, OOC. Galatea, a famous fashion designer, is looking for new faces. Miria, a low class boxer, happens to be what she had in mind. What will France bring them?Slight Devil May Cry Crossover.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Claymore or Devil May Cry, and anything associated with the two. The rest, however, is a different story. Enjoy. **

* * *

><p><strong>Claymore Girls <strong>

**1**

"And here we are with Galatea Prideux, the founder of the designer brand _'Claymore Girls'._

Claps surrounded the television studio, as well as cheers and hollers.

A faint smile crept on the said woman's lips. Her long legs were crossed as she sat across the interviewer, a series of television cameras of different angles capturing the two women as they conversed. The late night talk show simply called _'Handling Helen'_ was infamous for its juicy celebrity news and even more controversial host; its high ratings on the French charts were much deserved.

A firm, yet feminine voice filled the air, and some women in the audience shamelessly undressed the interviewee with their eyes. Galatea noticed, causing her to widen her sly smile.

"Yes, yes. It's nice to be on your show, Helen." Galatea clasped her hands together, placing them atop her thigh. "It's also nice to see you without a wine glass in your hands."

A short laughter erupted in the background and Helen was being a good sport about it. "Oh, I downed some vodka right before you came in so don't worry, I won't remember any of this tomorrow." The short haired blonde smiled mock-flirtatiously, comically adjusting herself on her seat and fixing her blondish strands.

Another slight laughter crept and Galatea joined as well. "That's good. That makes the both of us. I'm just kidding."

Helen's reaction was of a feigned disappointment. "So rumor has it that you're scouting models _yourself _for this season's _Claymore Girls _clothing line. This winter must be exhausting, considering you were right in the middle of the whole Trish Devlin, Lady Val Jean controversy."

Avoiding the host's bait, Galatea nonchalantly responded to the first topic. "Yeah, I'm looking forward on debuting this season's line on the runway these upcoming weeks." She smirked charismatically to one of the cameras, her lips curling up in a rehearsed grin. "Be sure to keep an eye out on our newest products."

* * *

><p>"You were great out there, Miss Prideux."<p>

Galatea looked up. A reflection of a red headed vixen stared rather seductively at her. The studio restroom was neat and tidy; the smell of flowery soap softly invading her nostrils. Cold water dripped from her face from when she washed it, and she dried herself with a paper towel she grabbed from the wall dispenser. She placed her palms on the sink, not turning around, and addressed the flame headed woman behind her through the mirror.

"Thank you." A bored smile crossed her lips. Her white buttoned up shirt sagged lazily against her torso, clinging onto her curves and draping on her slenderness. She feigned disinterest, barely. High class French girls were so predictable, so power hungry. She knew of their tactics and agendas, but she had motives of her own. "Miss Beaumont, it's a pleasure to officially meet you."

The red haired woman leaned against a booth, not caring about tarnishing her simply elegant black dress that didn't deserve to be worn on such an occasion. Then again, she _was_ a famous model that was steadily getting more and more movie gigs, Galatea noted, and assumed that she was the next to be interviewed by Helen.

A heavy Australian accent speaking French lingered as the model slash actress spoke. "Ah, _le plaisir est pour moi." _Her tongue delicately pronounced each soft word, a sensual sort of velvety voice dripped to hit Galatea's senses.

Galatea slowly turned around, her long strands catching the air for a second as they twirled. Her ghostly smile dared the other woman to oppose her very being. _Just see what happens. _"It's a shame your _Nicolo Ambrosio _dress is getting a little… crumpled." The tall woman walked forward that their bodies were just an inch away from each other. Galatea's milky white hands reached to grab the rather expensive designer garments, and straightened the other tall woman's torso area, her seemingly dainty fingers 'accidentally' brushing against the model's breasts as she did so. Galatea's silverish eyes uncaringly looked down at the other's green orbs. The other woman was only an inch shorter than Galatea, and she lunged her luscious model material lips against the taller woman's. Galatea wasn't surprised by the attack, and she returned the kiss in mild entertainment. Miss Beaumont was getting bold, and she slipped a tongue between Galatea's lips, entering the warmth of it. The swirling tongues wrestled as they swapped saliva, and Galatea broke their bodily connection as she felt probing hands caress her lower regions.

A low chuckle escaped her lips as she forcefully gripped Miss Beaumont's wrists. The woman flinched from the force exerted, and uttered in confusion. "What's wrong?"

"I'm in the mood of being the hunter, not the hunted." A second passed as the two stood still, and Galatea released her strong grip, leaving white hand prints on the delicate wrists where blood did not circulate.

"Oh, shut up, you sexy bitch." The persistent hand snaked itself once more towards Galatea's inner thighs, and silver eyes glinted callously as she shoved the redheaded woman to the floor. The shocked model looked up at her credulously as she sprawled on the floor helplessly; appalled that anybody would treat someone of her status in such an unforgiving manner.

"You whore. I said I wasn't in the mood to be fucked. I was supposed to fuck you." Galatea's tall stature looked down at the fallen woman as she straightened her buttoned up shirt. "Your breasts are asymmetric. Your right boob is a millimeter higher than the left, and your ears aren't aligned with your eyes. Half a millimeter off. Maybe you should talk to your plastic surgeon about that, and maybe you'll be landing more modeling gigs rather than acting gigs."

An astonished face engrossed the woman's face, only to be replaced with blatant anger as she spat her words. "Screw you, Galatea Prideux."

The tall woman walked off from the restroom, the door barely shutting as a shriek squeezed out of the closing gap.

"You fucking woman user!"

* * *

><p><em>Huff.<em>

_Huff. Huff._

_One-two jab. One-two hook. One-two jab. One-two hook. _

A torrent of jabs and hooks connected with the suspended punching bag, the heavy sands inside securing it to not flail every time the training target was punched. A lithe woman maneuvered herself around the bag, her arms firmly flexed in front of her face as a basic defensive tactic. A black sports bra wrapped itself around her shapely yet constricted breasts. Her abs clenched as she stretched out her punches and relaxed as she retracted her toned arms back to her torso. She was ripped, yet her body didn't forsake its obvious feminine features. Miria huffed as sweat was caught on her eye lashes, her forehead, chest and everything else perspiring from her training she started hours ago.

A towel collided with her unsuspecting face harshly, and she caught it as it dropped due to gravity. "Hey, what was that for?" She exhaled audibly, huffing and puffing as her chest rose and fell.

Mirrors replaced bland walls all around her, and she turned around to face Deneve, who sported a similar bra and some sporty looking shorts that clung tightly to her curves. She was carrying her duffel bag and a white towel hung from her neck. "It's closing time, Miria. Pack up your shit and get rest for tomorrow's training. Your fight's in two days so rest is as crucial as your sculpting of your body."

"Sheesh, you don't have to smack me with a towel going sixty miles per hour." She wiped the saltiness off her face and pushed back the wet hairs that clung to her face with the cloth. A small laugh came from Deneve, a woman around the same age as Miria.

"Oops, I guess I don't know my strength." She scoffed again. The _really_ short haired woman walked all around the training room, the floors cushioned for protection, and started putting the punching bags to the corners of the room. She closed all the doors inside the building, and stretched her legs as she waited for Miria to cool down.

The longer haired woman was doing breathing exercises, her rapid heartbeat slowly but surely calming down. She walked all around the cushioned floors, preventing her body to abruptly come to rest after a rigorous work out. She walked towards the water dispenser in one corner of the room, and drank a sip from the paper cup, looking at Deneve.

"So how's…. the gym doing?" A huff. "Are they still…. Gonna buy it off from you?" Never had water felt so refreshing.

Deneve was on the other side of the room, scratching her head in dismay at their topic. It was bound to be talked about anyway, so why not now? The boyish haired woman sighed. "In two months, they're gonna buy it from me. What can I do, Miria? This place is going bankrupt. Fuck, I'm actually thinking about just going back to school and getting a decent paying job." She unzipped her bag and placed her well used towel inside.

Miria finally felt her heart rate lowering, and she sighed in sympathy towards her long time friend. She felt sorry for her friend's situation. The gym was her passion, boxing. She bought the property with her long earned money, but people weren't as interested in the sport as they used to. No customers meant no money. No money meant no profit, and no profit meant no business for Deneve.

"I told you I'll help you out, girl." Her tone was a matter of factly. No bullshit. Miria walked towards her duffel bag, which was lying on a side of the room, and reached a baggy, boyish white shirt. It's a post workout outfit. It didn't have to look glamorous as it clung onto her sweat. "If I win the match, half of my prize money goes to you, and that's that." Her friend was having financial problems, and Miria not need to be a rocket scientist to connect the dots.

Deneve's face beamed with hope, but she knew that would be too much for her friend to offer her. "No, that's not fair for you. That money you'll get is your hard earned, and I'll just feel like a pathetic mooch if I undeservedly take some."

Miria let out a small, hasty laugh. Her friend was hard-headed as usual. She wasn't surprised that Deneve would reject her offer, but unfortunately, Miria was just as hard-headed, if not worse. "Shut up with that pride of yours." She joked harmlessly, owning a girlish tone as she teased. An innocent smile plastered her face, and her spikyish locks were put on a semi-neat ponytail as she spoke. "You're getting half of my money, and that's final."

Deneve gave up. "Fine. Now finish up so I can close." She offered a lopsided smirk, her collected demeanor never unnoticeable. "So, you got plans for tonight, kiddo?"

"Ew, don't call me that. We're the same age."

Indeed, the two twenty year olds walked away from _Deneve's Chop Shop, _an oddly named boxing gym in the grimier parts of downtown Paris, after Deneve turned off all the lights and locked the main door. It was nighttime in the big city, and it was alive. The two walked alongside a sidewalk, light pollution all around them as taxis and regular cars drove about, and building lights illuminated the dark skies. Noise from all around erupted as night people chattered about, electronic billboards spewed advertisement after advertisement, and music from near restaurants mildly flooded ears passing by.

"I'm going home and do just like you said: rest. What about you?" Miria slightly shivered from the night breeze.

"Same. Though I want to check out that new club soon, what's it called.. _Vienna_?" Deneve pulled out her gray hoodie, zipping the sweater with the duffel bag strap inside it.

"Yep, that's the new one."

"Like we need another gay bar. There's a strip near here where it's a gay club after gay club." Deneve pulled out a cigarette against the cold air and lit it. Her hooded head was elucidated for a second as a spark of light engulfed the tip of the tobacco stick, burning brighter as she inhaled the cancerous smoke deeply. A group of trashy looking girls looking like they're hitting a club attempted to bum some cigs from Deneve, only to be rudely rejected with a '_get the fuck outta here.' _

"Dykes!" A scantily clad teenager, probably around eighteen or nineteen, exclaimed loudly before walking away with her group of partiers.

"Fucking little kid sluts!" Deneve exhaled, and for a moment her hood hid her eyes.

Miria arched a brow, mildly amused from her friend's crude antics. Deneve smoked from time to time, only when she's stressed. Miria noted that. "It's seems counter-productive to be smoking after working out, but to hell with it." One wouldn't hurt, would it?

Deneve, sensing her cue, reached out her pack to Miria, a menthol stick lazily hanging between her lips.

Miria placed the stick between her mouth, took Deneve's lighter and sparked up the cigarette. The two looked up, and exhaled a minty vanilla scented smoke as they walked away from the busy city that never sleeps.

A giant screen against a towering building flashed images and videos of tall, skinny models walking down the runway. Some were almost fully exposed except for the delicious looking lingerie and gaudy looking headpieces that clung, while some had realistic looking wings ranging from angels' to butterflies' adorning the model's bare backs. The next batch of models looked more exotic, with darker skin and hair, and they walked fiercely on their heels, placing one long leg after the other as they strode elegantly on the runway, wearing oddly shaped dresses. Odd, yet symmetric. Some were asymmetric, yet they didn't look odd at all. Sensual electro music played as the models did what they do, and the well known logo '_Claymore Girls'_ materialized after the one minute show that dripped sex, sexiness, and womanly beauty ended, only to start again.

_How degrading. _Miria inhaled a puff as she looked away in mild disgust at the billboard.

* * *

><p>Metallic clinking was heard in the hotel room, and the two women in their lingerie giggled on the bed as Galatea was entrapped with cuffs connected to her bed poles. The view was magnificent in the one hundred thirteenth floor, and the giant glass wall was what divided Galatea's suite and the outside air. The city lights painted the panorama with different neon lights, the orbs and lines of luminosity a feast for the visual senses.<p>

"Are you giving up, Ga-la-tea?" One of the women slid a finger down Galatea's abdomen teasingly as she crouched on all fours, facing the trapped woman with a predatory gleam in her orbs. Luciela was her name, Galatea hoped she got that right. The other one was named Riful, and she wondered what race the two were. Those were indeed odd sounding names, almost otherworldly.

Galatea struggled her arms and legs, but to no avail. The three were all wearing nothing but undergarments, but instead of lingerie, Galatea's hips were hugged by tight white briefs, her breasts were cupped with a lacy black bra.

Riful giggled cutely. Galatea guessed their ages, and they were probably around her age, if not older. An accent dripped like honey when Riful spoke, yet Galatea couldn't guess where it was from, even if her life depended on it. "My, you may be a fashionista, but you can't even match your own underwear." Another giggle but this time, it sounded a tad sadistic.

Luciela giggled equally as evil as Riful, and the two crawled on all fours closer to their bound victim.

"This isn't funny anymore. Set me free. Now." A twitch betrayed one of Galatea's brows for a mere second.

"Not likely." Riful smiled delicately at Galatea, causing the taller woman's brow to twitch some more.

The two lingerie-clad women stretched their arms out and caressed Galatea's torso up and down with their palms after they thoughtlessly discarded her of her bra, and Galatea trashed harder this time. The two stopped their assaults and Luciela got off the bed, picking up her clothes that were carelessly thrown on the tiled floors. Riful clicked on her tongue thrice, as if patronizing Galatea's hopeless attempts, and placed her well rounded buttocks on top of Galatea's crotch. The dark haired woman sat gracefully, facing Galatea's side, her legs closed and folded. She turned her torso slightly to face the vulnerable woman underneath her, and she laughed as Galatea snarled and glared.

"We'll be leaving now, with a few of your change of course." Riful chimed as she watched Luciela jack the bills from Galatea's purse.

"Fucking bitches." The blonde cursed. She decided not to thrust her pelvis to rid of the bothersome woman on top of her, as that would only probably end in failure.

Riful finally relented, and she bent over suggestively, giving Galatea a very nice view, as she picked up her forgotten outfit from the floor. The two chuckled as they walked off into the door, and Luciela threw a key between Galatea's spread legs on the bed. The said captive couldn't reach it of course, due to her current position, and she barked a low bark as the two turned to give her air kisses before opening and closing the door, leaving the tied woman by herself.

"Absolutely amazing." She darted a look at her wallet, and she noticed they took her credit card as well. _I'll be sure to cancel that card then. Now, how shall I get myself out of this rut, this time? _

Galatea thrashed again before jumping as her telephone loudly rang. The deafening sound rang six more times until Galatea's recorded voice answered her voice mail. After the beep, a very angry Irene left a message.

"_Why are you not ready yet? If you do not meet up with me in the lobby within five minutes, I will personally go up there and drag you out myself. Do you think those two no-name models are going to have a chance in landing a gig on this season's line after bedding with you? You are terribly wrong. Hurry up and get down here, because I am in no mood to reschedule another meeting." _Click. Galatea sighed. She must thank Irene for her aggressive business-as-always attitude.

Five minutes have passed, and Galatea heard rapping against her hotel door.

"Come in!" The long haired blonde's husky voice echoed against the silence, and a creak of the door, followed by a palm slapping a forehead as Irene witnessed the spectacle before her.

"Quick, unlock these god-forsaken cuffs. The key's between by legs."

Irene sighed in an unhidden annoyance, unlocking each cuff with a 'click' of the key. "You really know how to make women hate you, don't you?" The silver haired lady, being Galatea's co-founder, outwardly showed her frustration. "Haven't you learned from those two Americans you were in a scandal with-"

"Trish and Lady?"

Irene didn't appreciate getting rudely interrupted. "Yes, those _two_ Americans. You should know by now not to mess with more.. well known women." The vice president of the company, wearing a maroon three piece power suit, straightened her outfit and glared at Galatea, who was still topless on the bed. Irene wasn't surprised anymore by the circumstances her eccentric, promiscuous president would find herself in. Galatea may be a playgirl, but she knew how to run a business. A multi-mass business.

Rubbing her wrists, Galatea walked to her closet and pondered on what to wear. She shuffled the closet hangers on the horizontal rod they hung to, and she slicked her messy strands back in frustration. "Irene, what happened to _my_ three piece suit?"

"I don't know," Her slightly groggy voice dripped with impatience. "Maybe those two hoochies that scampered off took them." Irene walked towards the massive glass barrier, and stared down at the marvelous city that never lost its pulse. Her reflection also stared down at the city, and Irene's face casted a look of serenity. Her exotic looking features, such as her ears and nose, caught Galatea's interest years ago, and she even offered Irene a spot on becoming one of the most well known models in their day and age. Irene automatically refused, believing her body is not a product, a toy for the masses to play with. Oh, the irony of her being in the position of cultivating new toys. Sharp silver eyes caught a stirring on the glass reflection, and Irene looked at Galatea on the glass window.

"I do apologize for dragging you into this legal battle, Irene." Galatea found a spare designer suit in the edge of her closet rack, and started putting on her silky silver slacks. She then put on a fresh new bra, and a white buttoned up shirt concealed her creamy skin. Her eyes were closed, and she placed one arm after the other in the sleeves of her silver blazer. "But you are also lawyer, and a damn good one at that." Galatea walked towards her fridge, and Irene's silver eyes sternly watched the other woman's reflection bring back two wine glasses and a bottle of a _1996 château lafite rothschild pauillac_. She walked towards the equally tall woman, and the two stood side by side as Galatea poured Irene a glass of wine.

Irene took a sip, the two looking down at the vast cosmopolitan scenery. "The limo's waiting outside."

Galatea took a sip, her other hand gracefully holding the delicate bottle. "Right. Let them wait for a little bit more. This is a matter of straight forward business. They won't go anywhere, and they deserve to be kept in suspense, if they're trying to take money from us anyway."

"You are indeed something else, Galatea."

* * *

><p>The five star restaurant hummed a soft, bassa nova jingle, and well known people devoured to their hearts' content. Stylish looking waiters and waitresses smiled and served professionally, and a man with a black bow tie, a regular buttoned up shirt, an apron and black pants approached their table with their tray of filled wine glasses.<p>

"White wine?"

"Thank you… David." That was the waiter's name, the elderly woman in red dully noted.

"Let's get this over with." Galatea lazily sipped the wine in her lips, a bored expression on her face was matched equally by Irene's. The tall woman's arm hanged behind the chair's crown with her legs crossed, and her three inch heel swayed in the air. The suits across Galatea and Irene wondered how Galatea can make a sloppy position look elegant, but quickly brush it off.

Irene clasped her hands together and placed them on the table before clearing her throat. "So what are your demands?"

The woman in the red suit, a stiff looking lawyer, cleared her throat as well and sipped her wine. She looked straight into Galatea's eyes, her tone professional and sharp. "Devlin, my client, is charging you, Galatea Prideux, with sexual harassment. His client, Ms. Val Jean," She addressed to the man sitting next to her. "is also filing a lawsuit for sexual harassment."

The mentioned man, dressed in his worker black suit, tugged his collar before straightening out the file of papers he pulled from his briefcase. He placed the copies inside a simple black binder and handed them to Galatea, who smiled in annoyance from the whole ridiculousness. She would not rape, molest, or even lay a delicate finger on any unwilling women, but of course, she had no proof. She quickly yanked the binder from the middle aged man in a rude manner, and her smile stitched upwards as he tried to hide his glare.

"This whole thing is garbage, and I assure you two," She smiled callously at the lawyers before her. "justice will rear its rightful head on you. You will get no money from us, you greedy scum of the earth." Wasting no more words, Irene and Galatea stood, leaving behind two dumbfounded employees at their tracks.

"We will see you in court next week, Miss Prideux." The lady lawyer raised her voice for the two to hear as they exited the restaurant.

"Well." Irene carried her briefcase effortlessly after putting the binder inside it. "That was quicker than expected."

Their limo was waiting outside the restaurant, and Galatea opened the backseat for Irene. The limo driver was used to Galatea's odd timings of politeness, and opening doors for her coworkers were one of them. Irene scooted to give Galatea space.

"Good evening, Miss Prideux, Miss Monette." The driver tipped his hat slightly as his eyes looked at the two's reflections on the rearview mirror.

"And a good evening to you, Carlo." Galatea crossed her legs and spread her arms on the seats' upper edges. "Drive slowly to the hotel. Irene and I need to fish for new meat."

Carlo chuckled low and pulled the shift stick to drive; his slight Italian accent was recognizable. "As you wish, ma'am."

* * *

><p>Deneve chucked the cigarette butt to a trash can, after killing its embers, of course. Her short, blonde hair gave no comfort to the chilly winds, and she pulled on her hood lower to her head. "It's such a pain not having a car." She smirked at her and Miria's inconvenience.<p>

"Well, good thing we don't live that _far_. And if anybody tries to mug us, we can kick their asses easy." Miria smiled, and huffed at the winter coldness.

Deneve mindlessly kicked a stray tin can on the cement, and it accidentally hit an upcoming black limo that stopped on the red light in front of them. The woman's legs were strong, and an audible clank was heard as it hit the right back seat door. The can rattled to the ground, and an obvious dented spot where black paint should be was visible. The chipped paint clung to the can, and the two walking bystanders stared in awe at what just happened.

"Oops." Deneve's eyes widened, her mouth was agape for a second.

The back seat door opened, and a heeled foot stepped out. Her voice rang into Miria's ears, and she was intrigued by the deepness of it. "Just what the hell did you two do to the car?"

"I don't have money to pay for this, Miria." Deneve wearily whispered to Miria.

Miria, in the same position, agreed. "I don't either."

Galatea, annoyed as she was, walked towards them. "Hey, I'm talking to you-"

"Run!" Miria screamed, sprinting towards the opposite direction.

Deneve caught up in no time, and the two vanished in the shady alleyways of Paris.

Galatea's arm was in the air, as if reaching for something that was long gone, and her brow twitched as she watched the two unknown women's backs getting smaller and smaller until they hid in the nooks and gaps of the countless buildings. "What the hell.." She looked back at the door and frowned at the rather large dent.

Carlo rolled down the right front seat window. "How's it look, ma'am? That was one loud hit."

Galatea sat back onto her chair before closing her door. "It has a large dent. Do not worry, Carlo, the repair's on me."

"_Grazie, Madame."_

"Did you see who did it?" Irene glanced at Galatea, her hand formed into a lose fist as it supported her leaning head.

"One was wearing a hood so I couldn't see her face, and one was… absolutely gorgeous." Galatea barely realized after her slight frustration vanished.

Carlo rolled up the front window and sensing the two were conversing, he rolled up the black tinted window behind him, giving the two business women privacy as they talked.

Irene smirked in amusement at Galatea's childish epiphany. City lights shone on their faces as they drove and Irene jokingly offered a suggestion. "Shall we drive after them and learn her measurements? Surely they can't be too far."

Galatea gazed idly at her window's moving scenery. She felt a yawn coming on as she inhaled, and she covered her mouth as the day's weariness hit her. "I'll find her. Her hips were curvaceous. Her face was of perfection. Her breasts…" She glanced at Irene, who was intently listening. Maybe this was the model they were desperately looking for?

"Her breasts were on a bind, but I can tell they're _so, very_ symmetrical." A smile unknowingly crept on her lips, and Galatea pondered about the escaped girl as she leaned her head with two fingers against her temple.

The two huffed loudly in a dark alleyway, their forms bended so that their hands connected to their knees for support.

* * *

><p>"Oh my god." Miria muttered. "That was so funny."<p>

Deneve laughed with Miria, never mind that they were now farther from their apartments.

Deneve's forearm wiped the sweat off her forehead. "She looks so familiar, but I can't put a finger on it."

"Whoever she is, she seemed like a bitch." The spiky haired boxer exhaled loudly, and the coldness made her breath visible. "One that dresses in fancy clothes."

The two giggled playfully and returned to square one on their quest of plopping lazily onto their beds.


	2. Chapter 2

**__**_Author's Notes:_

_ Well, second chapter. I'm balancing my fanfics in an effort of refreshing myself from too much darkness or lightheartedness, depending on which story I'm updating. Plus, it's fun putting these characters in awkward situations. They are a bit OOC as I'm interpreting them from a speck of their personalities in a modern, social world, and it wouldn't work out if the characters thrown in Paris are portrayed as too conditioned from being blood soaked warriors. Don't worry, I won't do a complete turnaround._

_Anonymous Z: I'm glad you've enjoyed this rather light fic compared to my other two, and I hope you'll enjoy it more as the story unfolds. _

_For the fun of it, I suggest checking out the song "Stompbox" by 'Spor'. It rather fits a certain situation in this chapter._

* * *

><p><strong>Claymore Girls<strong>

**2 **

_Dat azz, girl. Show me dat azz._

_Dat azz, girl. _

_Show me dem azz. _

An image of voluptuous African American women in daisy duke shorts danced, or rather, shook their buttocks as an improper looking rapper recited his verse smugly between the background dancers.

_Bounce that motha- _

"That American music is trash." Rigaldo dictated, his tone icy cold and filled with resentment.

"Might I ask why you hate Americans so much, Rigaldo?" Galatea exhaled and inhaled heavily as she sat on a work out bench. Lifting weights were a regular on her busy schedule, and she usually exercises before throwing herself into some paperwork. There were contracts to be made and reviewed, and model portfolios to be looked over. She also needed to get back on her board of directors, and let them be aware on when their annual meeting will take place this year. It's been a while since she saw Teresa Ferrara and Isley Lombardi. Aside from Irene Monette and Rigaldo Montenegro, her butler, Teresa and Isley were the other two people she trusted. She mustn't take chances with the others, acquaintances, enemies, lovers and strangers alike, for who knows what their real intentions were? It is common knowledge Galatea was in a position of power, and she only takes advice from the people similar to her in position, and Rigaldo, a Spanish man in his early twenties whose maturity and wisdom clash with his youthful spirit.

"Too much indulgence. Too much obvious exploitations of sex. Their women are portrayed as a single thread away from being whores in their media, and that rap music is just pure rubbish." The bright eyed, dark haired man strongly stated as he stood in a gentlemanly manner near Galatea. He dreamed on, staring at the metropolis through the massive looking glass in the spacious hotel room, and his irises resembled grey skies bursting into veins of lightning and thunder. He wore a sleek black three piece suit that hugged his slenderness, and he offered Galatea his silver tray which he effortlessly balanced on one hand.

Galatea nodded a 'thank you' gesture towards her well-kempt servant, taking the bottle of water and a fresh towel off the tray. She then spat a cheap laugh, as if she was agreeing with his allegations. "You make them seem so crass, so tactless. It's not like I am not doing the same to women." She wiped her face, which was slightly drenched in sweat.

"Yes, but you are cultured about it. You romanticize these women you sculpt and shape. You make art with their flesh and bones, unlike those Yankees who think _that_ is considered sensual. So blunt. No respect for true beauty." His face pointed to the music video flashing through the plasma screen on the wall.

Galatea dribbled down the cool water, a single drop missing her mouth. "Do you not want to go to school, Rigaldo? I can pay your tuition. You are too intelligent to be just a mere man-servant." The business woman stood and stretched her arm muscles before darting a sharp glance at Rigaldo, who backed a step away.

"My job is to ensure your safety and serve you. How will you keep up with your many mistresses and daily life with all the responsibilities you juggle?" Rigaldo replaced the towel and the water bottle back on the tray, his face stoic and his tone slightly leaking of worry.

Galatea walked to the restroom, a flashback of the fiasco running through her head. She reminded herself NOT to give Rigaldo a day off when she was to have a threesome with two sadistic, kleptomaniac models that didn't even need the money. Next time. Maybe they had a grudge on her, whatever she did?

"My new card's in my wallet. Get Carlo and yourself a snack or some _Gucci_. Maybe even a lady. Come back in two hours. You are dismissed."

"Yes, ma'am." Rigaldo bowed courteously, his eyes following Galatea's back as she closed the door. _Please do not overwork yourself, Galatea. _

The sun shone vibrantly, and its light reflected off of the tall, glassy buildings. The tall structures clustered themselves in the middle of the city, and the Eiffel tower stuck out away from the crowd of skyscrapers. It was a historical representation, an architectural artwork that symbolized the French Revolution. It was also an overrated tourist attraction. A ray of light penetrated Undine's eyes, and the lean woman reached around to grab a pair of aviator sunglasses with one hand, causing her to temporarily swerve her _Koenigsegg Agera R. _She was finally in Paris, and that meant one thing: to party with Galatea.

"Guess who's in town." A smirk stretched onto her lips. Her silver eyes were hidden behind the dark tint of her shades. Undine sported a sleek black buttoned up shirt and skinny dark slacks that widened at the ends, her light silverish hair contrasting with the blackness. Her limbs and torso were long and skinny, and she formed a fist as she clutched onto her scalp's hair.

"_Ah. You have finally arrived. Unfortunately, I'll be busy this daytime." _Galatea's voice rang on the other line.

"Yeah, yeah. I know you're busy taking care of business and all. It's the nighttime I'm interested about." A grin formed. "How about we go to this underground fight club I've been hearing about later on? All these bigwigs bet in there. Politicians, athletes, actors… Of course they _don't_ want to be identified as part of the audience of an illegal sport." Undine sniggered as she went eighty miles per hour.

"_Hm." _There was a pause. _"And why is this illegal, I might ask? Though I have an idea why, you bloodthirsty oaf."_

"I disagree on the oaf part." Undine deflected Galatea's potshot, her voice gruff. "It's as illegal as illegal gets. What makes you think all these rich cunts are betting their cash away? They fight. And they fight to the death. Well anyway, if you would like to come have fun tonight, you know who to call, old boy." Unnaturally sharp canines peeked out from Undine's grin as she spoke, and she rotated the volume knob allowing for the loud rock music to satisfy her aural senses. Her muscle car raced on and aerodynamically pierced the winds as she drove closer and closer to the city.

"_Now why in God's name would you even consider that I would want to go to such a trashy, disgusting-" _was screamed by a low voice before Undine ended the call.

A loud thump of the phone was heard as Galatea hung up. She rubbed her eye lids in weariness and frustration. The deadline was getting closer and closer each day, but she could not, for the life of her, settle on a group of models for their season project. She was stubborn, she took her art seriously, and any ordinary, average, _mediocre_ models simply would not do. She needed angels brought down from the heavens, or maybe devils that would tempt her at night; deadly succubi that would suck the life out of her after their accomplished chastisement of her flesh. There was that no-named spiky haired woman, who resided in the dark corners of Galatea's unconscious depths, but the president had too much on her mind to remember the events from two days ago. Galatea inhaled deeply, and walked back to the restroom to take a cold shower.

Hours passed and a loud knocking perked Galatea's ears to twitch. A simple office desk near her queen sized bed was blanketed with scattered scratch paper, and the artist sat on a simple chair which faced the looking glass. It was nighttime, and Galatea could feel the chilling temperature emanating through the large window. Sketches ranging from simply drawn women's anatomies to more sophisticated, more elaborated drawings of soft, bare bodies were adorned with fashionable garment prototypes. Galatea scrunched a well concentrated brow until another series of rapping snapped her out of her trance. She did not like interference when her creativity flowed fluidly, and she gritted her teeth in annoyance. "Who is it?"

"It's me, dum-dum!"

"Ah. I forgot about you." The blonde woman stood from her chair, causing it to screech backwards from the tiles, and opened the door.

"Well, if it isn't the famous president of the newfound world." Undine heavily patted Galatea on her shoulder, and as rough as Undine was, Galatea was not intimidated by her business partner.

If Galatea was the queen of debauchery and sin, then Undine would be her joker, the wild card that Galatea needed for her entertainment and for her business to thrive. She marketed her products to Undine, and Undine's company manufactures thousands of the clothes to be sold worldwide. The blonde woman noticed a folder clasped in Undine's hand.

"What the hell does that even mean?" Galatea uttered a sincere laughter and firmly patted Undine's arm back in greeting.

"So are you ready to watch a good show?" Undine plopped herself on Galatea's leathery couch, her glasses hanging from her buttoned-up shirt, its top three buttons unused.

Galatea organized her sketches, which she carefully put on the drawer underneath her desk. She arched one brow fiercely, as if Undine insulted her dignity. "Why do you think I would go to such an inhumane, despicable event? Have you lost your head? And seriously, I know you're an adrenaline chaser much like I am, but to go to a show like that?" Galatea's firm voice penetrated Undine's ears.

Undine snickered, as if expecting the tall woman's reaction. "Look at these chicks, Galatea." Portrait pictures were plopped and scattered from the table in front of the couch, and fierce looking women of different races glared back to whoever was gawking at their frozen faces. It looked more like mug shots, Undine noticed. "They're beautiful, no?"

Galatea, her interest piqued, strode towards the shots and skimmed through them one by one, her eyes following each of the details from their lips to their bone formations to their eyes and to their face, the whole sum, the result of their individual features and how these creatures would look if combined into a finished piece of art. A glint shone itself on the designer's eyes, and a single sided smile twitched upwards, as if there was a light in the dimness that was imperfection. Maybe there was a chance. How can these women choose to fight barbarically rather than show off their god given beauty?

"I knew getting these pictures would win you." Undine lazily smiled at her business partner.

"Let's go."

* * *

><p>Rigaldo sat in the front seat right next to Carlo, both dressed in black with a sense of serenity radiating from the two. Instead of a limo, Carlo drove a plain looking black car, making sure that they wouldn't attract attention. The metallic orbed man eyed Carlo with a look of doubt and worry, and the Italian smiled, his accent dripping in subtlety. "It's okay, Rigaldo. She ordered us to stay until they come back." An amused smile crawled onto his slightly tanned face. "Sly woman has something on her sleeve."<p>

"Hm." Rigaldo stared through the tinted windows as two tall figures walked towards a plain looking abandoned warehouse that wouldn't provoke any suspicion. "I have a feeling madame will do what she does best. _Esta loca._"

Carlo released a jolly laugh and shook his head as he opened a palm in a gesture.

"Tell me again why in fuck's name do we have to dress up like men?" Galatea fixed her itchy black wig and straightened her heavy wool trench coat. Their black jackets were thick and straight, and it hid their breasts effectively. Their pointed, masculine boots loudly met the floor with their short heels, and the two entered a door-less entryway inside the dark warehouse in the abandoned industrial area of Paris. Condemned electrical buildings and construction sites neighbored the structure, and unnoticeably muffled techno music seeped from a distant door before them.

"Do you want to be recognized as Galatea Prideux, the famous fashion designer that promotes and bets on illegal fighting?" Undine stated rather than asked, her hands on her coat pockets.

"I assume dressing up as different women would be too flavorless for you." Galatea experimented on lowering her already low voice. "I'm only doing this because there's a slight chance I may bump into my models." There. She found the underlying bass of her voice and expanded it.

"Sure, miss perfection." Undine's hand wrapped around the doorknob and twisted it, allowing for the trembling rhythm and every other sound to loudly take them over. "Shit." The two walked down the filthy stairs, dodging random people that loitered and made out.

A sea of bodies swayed and twirled as they raved on. The two faux men walked through the sweaty dancers that flashed and shone as the strobe lights turned on and off, the different colored lasers shooting from different directions reaching skin and walls. The bass made the floor slightly vibrate every time the beat lets it, and crude cat calls were thrown towards Galatea and Undine.

"Sorry honey, but you look like I need a drink." Galatea spat as she walked past a very _happy _looking lady that hit on her.

Angry glances were thrown towards the two's direction, and Undine made a 'you're a bitch' look with her brow arched. The two glided through the mass of sex dripped limbs and faces, avoiding their toxicity as the crowd was consumed by ecstasy and alcohol. The music changed into a slower paced techno house song right when two men guarding an entryway blocked with colorful dangling beads stopped the two 'men' on their tracks.

"Name?" The beefier man talked as he looked down at Undine.

"We're on the list." Her voice was raspy, and oozed of confidence. "Jack Horrace and this here's Emilio Obrigado."

The other man, smaller than the first, checked his list of papers and confirmed it, looking at his fellow bouncer. "They're good."

"'_Obrigado'? Why didn't you pick out 'Fabio' instead?" _Galatea whispered, although she doubted Undine heard her at that point. She turned towards where Undine was gazing at, and she almost had a heart attack. She shook Undine's arm without looking at her, her stronghold gaze was locked on to the fighter before her. "Why didn't you tell me _she_ was fighting?" Galatea shoved her way towards the front of the massive ring of savages hooting and egging on the two-person war before them. "With a man.." She uttered to herself.

Miria dodged the jab which was intended to smash her face. She countered by landing a punch on the muscular man's ribs while his arm was still in the air, and Miria sidestepped to the left to land another blow on his other side. Sweat dripped from the two, and their fists were free from gloves. Blood was visible on her scraped knuckles, and a third jab, much to the man's shock, dug deep onto his right cheek as an audible crack was heard. The man spat dark blood before he staggered backwards with a pained grunt escaping his lips. The crowd cheered and booed, cussing and insulting either Miria or the much larger built man.

"A fucking girl's beating you, pussy!"

"Finish him!"

"Kill that motherfucker!"

The battered fighter and his equally if not worse, battered ego gritted his teeth in rage. How dare a woman, a foot shorter than he was, no less, managed to beat the crap out of him? His adrenaline pumped, causing his fight or flight instinct to emerge. He temporarily forgot about the sharp pains all over his body, and rushed towards Miria in an attempt to kick her. Miria's eyes widened at the new style her opponent had, and barely dodged it backwards. She fell on a group of vicious spectators, only to be pushed back to her opponent, who was ready to sock her square on the nose. His fist pumped like a rocket heading straight towards the center of Miria's face, and finding her balance, she exhaled as she bent over backwards dodging the blow while she sloppily commenced a powerful front kick to his stomach. She fell once again on the crowd, and they forcefully pushed her back, her palms meeting the ground as she fell. The man's air was literally kicked out of him, but quickly regained himself and kicked Miria's stomach while she was still down. The crowd roared louder with their fists in the air, and Galatea was getting angry. Really angry. The lights on the wide room were bright, and she quietly slipped on her dark shades, her hand hidden in her deep coat pockets. She vanished within the crowd of bloodthirsty onlookers, her face stoic and her lips had no curl.

Another kick greeted Miria's stomach, causing her to spit and cough on the ground. She fell on her side and held her stomach in pain, only to ignore it. She quickly got back to her feet just in time before the man lunged a third kick, and using speed to her advantage, she side stepped before jumping and found the lower back of his head, pummeling it until her right arm's muscles were deprived of oxygen. Miria huffed heavily and before she could even react, a strong, powerful hand tightly squeezed her neck, causing her to groove her brows due to her lack of breathing.

"Who's the bitch now?" The sweating fighter smirked in his so called victory.

Miria's senses were quickly dwindling, and the chants and techno music next door quickly got muffled until she only heard a loud ring. She opened her eyes to see the hands were still wrapped around her, and the mixed noises loudly entered her ears once more as she held onto her opponent's strangling arm with both hands. She dropped her weight onto his extended limb before kicking him straight in the chest with both legs after grabbing momentum and strength from her jump. The two laid on the floor, huffing and sweating, before the man, with fear on his eyes, stretched his arm out and slapped another fighter's hand who blended in with the crowd before. The second fighter quickly dragged his comrade onto the side as the crowd moved to give them space, and Miria weakly knelt as she looked up at her new opponent.

"Coward." She spat at the smirking fighter.

Another kick, this time delivered to her face, silenced Miria and she bled as she closed her eyes, waiting for the final blow to finish her. It never came, and the crowd muttered in confusion.

Undine widened her eyes with her mouth slightly agape. Galatea stood before Miria with her shades still clipped onto her refined nose bridge, and she cringed in regret as the now unconscious man plopped on the ground. _Oops_. _I hope I didn't kill him. _

Miria opened her eyes in confusion, and she eyed the… man standing before her with a crowbar on one hand. She then gazed at the unconscious fighter asleep on the floor with her, and back to the tall, slender man that sported black sunglasses and a trench coat. She felt her strength drastically getting drained from her, and dizziness took over her vision and body. Strong arms stopped her before she hit the floor.

"Yo, what're you doing?" The burly bouncer from before walked towards Galatea, the crowd giving him way. He gripped a gun in his hand, Galatea noted, and she eyed Undine, giving her a look, as if the two were used to situations similar to this. There were not.

"Don't shoot, or I'll shoot your friend." Undine quickly grabbed the smaller bouncer as he walked towards the entryway, her arm like a vice grip around his neck. She formed her hand in a shape of a gun and pointed it at her captive's temple, distracting the armed man. The group of people scattered and ran about foolishly, gripped with panic at the sight of the gun, while some pulled out theirs as well. The room was now in the midst of anarchy, and Galatea took advantage of the situation by quickly picking up the injured stranger and blended in with the blind swarm.

"Crazy asshole." The armed man attempted a shot at Undine but clearly missed as too many people were bumping into each other. The bullet hit the wall behind Undine. Random people, mostly high class gangsters and other criminals alike were now joining in on the chaos, popping their glocks and getting trigger happy from the provocation. Undine smacked her victim behind the head rendering him unconscious, and she crawled her way towards the sleazy club, hoping Galatea was doing the same. Hearing the gunshots and screams, the mass of bodies on the dance floor aimlessly ran around as well, searching for the closest exit while attempting to dodge stray bullets. The burly man looked around for reinforcement, but the pandemonium in the warehouse was too massive and scattering bodies and bullets were everywhere.

Galatea bent over due to her height in an effort to avoid being spotted, but the dead weight she carried on her shoulders greatly burdened her. "Shit, shit, shit, shit." A fast paced drum and bass song was pumping loud against the speakers in the club, and Galatea saw somebody get shot on the leg. Her heart pumped faster as she looked around the mayhem around her, and she finally spotted Undine near the stairs, waving at her to hurry the hell up.

"Hurry the hell up!" Undine screamed as she ran quickly back to Galatea, dodging the panicking people, and helped her carry the unconscious girl. The two were shoved by a crowd of people running towards the stairway, but Galatea managed to find the strength to shove back and push bodies away, as if she was on a moshpit. A very deadly, life threatening moshpit.

"Fuck you!" Undine kicked a man strangled by fear as he attempted to push the woman out of the way. The unfortunate clubber was stepped on as a stampede of people ran, tripped and fell.

"Get the fuck out of the way!" Galatea tackled another man, unintentionally, against a wall as she carried Miria's torso. Undine carried Miria's lower half, and the two pushed and shoved the bodies upward as they climbed on each stair as fast as their legs could take them. They finally reached the last door, and the two dashed towards Carlo's hidden car behind a wired fence with Undine cursing and Galatea, well, also cursing. "Open the god-fucking door!" Galatea roared. A horde of people ran and dashed outside the warehouse as well, escaping the structure to wherever their legs could carry them.

Rigaldo quickly climbed out of the front seat and hastily opened the backseat, a look of readiness plastered on his face. "Goddamn you, Galatea!" He pulled out the hidden gun in his arm holster underneath his suit and waited for the three bodies to shove themselves in the car. He harshly closed the door and dashed back to his seat.

"Go go go!" Undine screamed, her wig slightly lopsided from all the running.

Carlo pressed on the gas pedal as hard as he could, causing the car to uncomfortably jolt forward and the passengers to jerk harshly.

Galatea and Undine huffed heavily in the backseat, their eyes still wide from what just happened. A woman, a stranger laid quietly on their laps, and Carlo sped onto the darkness.

After regaining her composition, Galatea cleared her throat. "Let's cruise for a bit all around Paris in case they manage to identify and follow this car. I can't afford angry people knowing where I live."

"Yes, ma'am" was Carlo's only reply.

Rigaldo tucked his pistol away in his chest, and Galatea and Undine stared straight ahead with eyes still wide open. Their wigs were now clearly very crooked.

Undine slowly rotated her head towards Galatea, her face still shell shocked. "So where'd you get the crowbar?"

Galatea slowly returned the gaze. "I barged inside an 'employees only' door..." Galatea shakily took the glasses off her face and stared intently at the stranger on her. "I wouldn't stand anybody ruining a face like hers."

"I'm glad you found what you were looking for." The silver haired woman leaned her head back in relief.

* * *

><p>"You what?" Irene was flabbergasted.<p>

"_Yes, I'm in the hospital right now. But it's okay, Irene." _Galatea's tone attempted to comfort her business partner.

"How deep is it?" Irene tapped her foot in anxiety as she sat on her work desk, a computer screen facing her. _You're too careless sometimes, you idiot._

"_Oh come now." _Galatea's deep yet feminine voice always doused Irene's fires, but not today. _"The bullet just grazed me. They stitched me up a few hours ago, and my arm's fine now. I didn't even notice right away that I got hit. I suppose my adrenaline dulled the sting away until my excitement's gone down. Then it started hurting like a.." _Galatea paused, much to Irene's annoyance. _"Excuse me, nurse. How is she?" _

Irene quietly glared to nothing in particular in her work room while her index finger scrolled on the mouse. She needed to dispatch her employees' paychecks all around France since it was close to payday, and she rubbed her eyelids as she listened to Galatea have another conversation while she was still on the phone.

"_I'm sorry, Irene. Anyway. Remember those two hooligans from two days ago?" _

"Hm. Yes. What do they have to do with your situation?" Irene squinted her eyes in confusion and curiosity.

"_Well, I made the promise that I would find her. And I found her. A one in a million chance. Actually, a one in a two million chance, considering France's population is approximately-" _

"Yes, yes." Irene's tone got louder. "Save your demographical facts for next time. So what will you do now that you found her?"

A pause. _"I will make her mine, of course." _

Galatea clicked on the hospital phone to hang up as she waited in the hospital lobby. She sat on one of the long lines of chairs alongside weary people, and Galatea guessed that they were waiting on an ill-fated relative or friend.

The long haired blonde checked her watch. _Two-thirty a.m. and Irene's still working. I'll tell her to take the day off tomorrow. _

"Galatea Prideux?"

Some people whispered as her name was announced, but Galatea quickly brushed it off. She had more important matters on her hands. She walked up to the intensive care nurse. "Yes."

"She has no internal bleeding, no concussions, no broken bones, no lacerations, and her vital signs and blood pressure are normal. She's clear. The only problem is the bruises on her face, neck and stomach. She's clearly battered, but with proper rest she'll recover in no time, one week, two weeks tops. It only looked horrible, but she's good." She smiled. She offered Galatea a clipboard and a pen. "How will you pay, do you have insurance, ma'am?"

"Can you bring her out first?" Galatea nonchalantly pulled out her wallet from her pants pocket, her eyes closed.

"Yes, the transporter will be out in a minute with her."

A uniformed man slowly strode towards the lobby from the sealed hallway, and the wide doors electronically shut off behind him. He rolled over Miria, which was sitting weakly on a wheelchair. The look on her face convinced Galatea she was still dazed from the fight and the mild painkillers a nurse had given her. Her face was moderately bruised from the hits, and her lip was cut from the impact with her teeth. Galatea stared down at Miria, who was slightly high from the medicinal drugs, and silver orbs took in the temporarily flawed features of Miria's face. The coated figure had a stoic look on her face and walked besides the worker towards a tiny room with a cashier sitting in boredom.

"I don't have insurance, so I'll be paying in debit."

After the whole transaction, Galatea strode behind Miria's wheelchair, taking over for the transporter, and wheeled Miria until they were out of the hospital. Carlo was parked directly outside, and Rigaldo opened the backdoor for the tall woman.

"Who.. are you?" Miria muttered as she was gently placed to sit in the backseat of the car.

Galatea slightly winced as she positioned Miria in a comfortable arrangement, straining her fresh stitches. _The anesthesia shouldn't be wearing off already._ "The question is who are you?" She found herself smiling at the stranger's efforts to maintain sobriety, only to deflate the harder she resisted it. "I risked my life to save yours. Foolish? Perhaps. But you are my life. My art, the angel I was looking for and a glimpse of death was worth it if I can steal one of heaven's creatures."

Miria lazily turned her head in the most effort she could muster, and gazed at Galatea with heavy lids. Her speech was slightly slurred, her head was still spinning from the event hours ago. "For a kidnapper… you say poetic..things.."

Galatea twitched her brow. _A kidnapper? The nerve of this woman! _She crossed her long arms and leaned against the window opposite of Miria, who leaned her weary head against the left window. "Drop us off in the hotel, Carlo."

"A man, that turned into a woman.." Miria muttered as the drugs were taking over her body and made her lids heavier than they already were.

"Wake up, madame." A rush of cool air incited goose bumps on Galatea, and her lids fluttered open from her short nap. "We're here." Rigaldo held the door open for Galatea, his face ever the rebel of contorting from emotions.

The rudely awakened woman grumbled something before stepping out of the car and walked to the other side to pick Miria up. She carried the resting woman in the bridal position and sleepily mumbled for Rigaldo to open the hotel doors for her.

* * *

><p>"Good night, Rigaldo and Carlo."<p>

Galatea plopped the unconscious fighter on her wide bed, and without changing, laid herself on the far side. She quickly fell into a well deserved slumber, for she had accomplished something that day. _What else did I expect hanging out with Undine?_

The sun's rays irritated Miria in her sleep, and she furrowed her brows as she was quickly getting yanked from her pleasant dream. She dreamt of being near a surreal beach positioned on a high mountain, and the light was getting unbearably bright, causing her to snap her eyes open. Her silver orbs scanned around her environment and much to her confusion, she couldn't remember how she got in such a fancy looking suite. She sensed something move on her side, and she instinctively kicked the object, seeing as how her last memory was of fighting to the death.

A thud was heard, followed by a low _oomph_. "Are you insane, girl?" Galatea scratched her head as she quickly stood back to lay on the bed, which was now inhabited by a Miria. "Get back to sleep before-"

"Who are you? Why'd you bring me here?" Miria's eyes were sharp and focused on the strange yet undeniably attractive woman's back. She sat up and scooted herself as far as possible, and much to her annoyance, her body still felt like jelly. She winced from the pain shooting at her jawline. _My face hurts, and I guess I passed out from all the ass whooping. Still, this bed's pretty comfortable._

Galatea didn't bother to look back. She was incredibly sleepy and it was barley seven a.m., she noticed on her watch. "Be quiet and get some rest, It's seven in the morning for god's sake. I'm your 'kidnapper' as you declared and I command for you to shut the hell up and sleep."

"No, you tell me-"

Galatea snapped herself out of her sleeping position and crawled towards Miria with a glare to match the spiky haired stranger's. Miria swallowed at the intensity radiating from the woman's eyes and she slightly looked up as Galatea confronted her head on. The taller woman knelt on the bed with her blonde locks cascading down around her, and she inched herself against Miria until they were close enough to kiss. Galatea's eyes matched the intensity of Miria's as the two glared for a minute without moving, and Galatea simply smirked at the stranger's persistence.

"Get away from me." Miria averted her eyes and finally whipped her head to the side. Galatea did not relent, and did not move away from Miria.

A 'tch' escaped Galatea's lips as she fisted her scalp's hair. "I saved your life out there and I made sure to bring you to a goddamn hospital for the hot mess that you were. Now the least you could do is to be a good little girl and be grateful."

"Can you get out of my face?" An irritated tone escaped from Miria's lips, her cheeks slightly red from the close contact. "I'm going to fall off the bed if you keep inching in on me like that, you pervert."

"Why of course. Though I would wonder why such a stunning little thing like you would even risk destroying her beauty." Her voice was groggy and deeper than usual.

Galatea returned to her slumber on the other side of the bed, leaving Miria to sit and stare in a dumbfounded manner at what just occurred hours ago, and how this stranger would save somebody she never even knew. A slight feeling of uneasiness crept up on her stomach, and another small blush sneaked its way onto her cheeks. _What a bitch. _She was irritated by her body's betrayals and threw a finger at Galatea's back before plopping herself on the bed, making sure she plopped hard and loud on purpose. Miria felt the heaviness of yesterday's fight take her heavy lids over again, and she slept like a baby for the second time. _A very rude, opinionated bitch._

"Good morning, stranger." Galatea smirked as she sat on her simple work desk. She was sketching more and more prototypes, but this time the pencil women had long, spikyish hair. She smiled charismatically to Miria, who was yawning from her bed. It was three hours later, and the artist was grateful she even had sleep.

"Ouch. Everything hurts." Miria stretched her body in a catlike manner, causing Galatea to widen her smile.

"Ah, so you can talk like a normal person now." The sound of her pencil sliding against smooth paper was audible, filling the room. "Are you hungry, my prisoner? Maybe thirsty?" Galatea chuckled as she averted her gaze from the other girl. She was now concentrated on her art.

Miria growled at the 'prisoner' comment. She tried standing up, but dizziness strangled her head, making her wince. She sat back down on the bed in defeat and held on to her cranium. "I'm not your prisoner. Are you crazy?" She scrunched her brows as she studied the sitting woman before her. She widened her eyes in surprise. "Wait, you're that… woman in the limo!" Miria instinctively hugged herself then noticed she was wearing a lose t-shirt that wasn't hers.

"Yes, that was me. Do you know how much it is to pay for the damage you and your friend had done?" Galatea mock growled in anger, and purposely glared at Miria. _Not a lot. _She stood from her desk and walked towards the girl, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed. She kneeled down before a bewildered Miria, and the taller woman smiled a cheerful smile. "This is our second encounter, and already you have given me so much trouble." She gracefully grabbed Miria's hand as if to kiss it, but the taller woman just kept their hands suspended in the air before gently placing something in the other woman's palm. Miria, the beaten noodle that she was, couldn't move to resist, but she averted her gaze away from the kneeling stranger and checked what was on her palm.

"Painkiller. Take one if your body still aches, doll." Galatea stood and walked towards the fridge, grabbing a water bottle. "Drink."

Miria gulped down the bottle as she suspiciously eyed the strange woman before her. Her face was bruised from blue to purple, and her chapped lip's cut had dried blood encrusted on it. Miria suddenly felt self conscious from the eyes on her, like they were studying every inch of her face. _What is with this woman? _"Can I help you?" She looked up with a bored look on her face.

Galatea latched her hands on her hips as she looked down at the woman sitting before her, a look of seriousness in her eyes. "There's food and drinks in the fridge. There's a restroom over there, and a TV if you get bored. If you leave this hotel room while I'm gone," She inched her face against Miria's, who twitched a brow. "God knows what I'll do to you in your vulnerable state once I find you."

Miria rolled her eyes at Galatea's smirk. "I don't think I can go anywhere for at least a day, and you obviously seem to be a high roller, not a psychopath." She felt the coldness of the tiles on her feet. Her tone was softer as she muttered, gazing at the glass window near her. "Thanks for saving my ass out there, so whoever you are, you're probably not as bad as you are smug."

The taller woman chuckled as she skimmed for clothes in her closet. "So you don't know who I am… Interesting." She put on her long, black trench coat. "If I come back and you still don't know who I am, I'll be sure to give you punishment."

"Oh, please, as if-" Galatea shut the entry door before Miria could finish her backtalk, and greeted Rigaldo, who was silently standing next to it.

"Rigaldo."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Keep an eye on her, and make sure she doesn't break anything, including herself."

"Where will you be going?"

"To the photo shoot, of course. Dietrich Gaertner will be there, and I was personally invited to be introduced to this German beauty." Galatea walked down the hallway until she reached the elevators, and with a smile on her face, hummed in satisfaction as she descended.

* * *

><p><em>In the next chapter, things are looking up as <em>_Galatea meets Dietrich, German's sexy answer to her model dilemma, and Deneve regrets letting Miria go through something so dangerous as the two overestimated Miria's strength. Galatea and Irene gets invited to a high class party only to be drugged and bound by psychotic models lead by Riful and Luciela. How will Miria react towards Galatea's 'different night, different girl' lifestyle during her recovery? What will Galatea do once she gets bored of Miria, if she gets bored of Miria? _

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><p><em>Questions, commentaries, constructive criticisms: You all know what to do, if your free will wills you. <em>


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